


Whisky Mac

by Fr333bird



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-28
Updated: 2012-10-28
Packaged: 2017-11-17 06:18:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/548523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fr333bird/pseuds/Fr333bird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Morgana meets Gwaine in the bar at the student union.  He says ‘hi.’  She says ‘hi’ back.  Throw some whisky mac into the mix and the consequence is PWP.  Modern AU.  Co-written with Mr Fr333bird (he wrote Gwaine, I wrote Morgana).  Written in short drabbles, alternating POVs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whisky Mac

**  
Morgana**

****“Isn’t that your little brother at the bar? He’s so pretty,” Morgause drawls, running a black fingernail along her lower lip.

“You’re wasting your time darling,” I reply, draining my third Long Island iced tea of the night. “He’s already hooked up with some first year called Jen or Gwen or something.”

“Shame,” she grins, all white teeth and scarlet lipstick. “I wouldn’t mind teaching him a thing or two.”

I roll my eyes at her. I prefer my men with some experience.

“Who’s that with him though?” I narrow my eyes, studying the slightly scruffy long-haired boy laughing at something my half-brother has said. My interest is piqued.

 

**Gwaine**

****“Nice one, Arthur,” I laugh. To be honest I wasn’t listening, but I pick up on the cue to laugh -- something about a mishap in the lab with a petri dish. My eyes were scanning the room out of habit, looking for my next challenge.

I spy them in the corner and I’m intrigued. Are they old school goths or emos? One blonde, one dark. For a moment I imagine them taking turns to go down on me.

“Oi, tosser, which of those two moody bitches would you rather do?”

Arthur’s eyes move to where I’m pointing, then nearly pop out as he chokes on his Rusty Nail.

 

**Morgana**

****“Why on earth is your brother spitting his drink everywhere?” Morgause sounds amused.

“Fuck knows, he’s a cretin.” I reply, watching as the scruffy boy pounds on Arthur’s back with slightly more force than is probably required.

Something about him draws my eye. He’s not my usual type at all, but there’s a kind of magnetism about him, an energy that keeps me looking. His eyes flick up again, they meet mine and he grins, all blinding teeth and scruff and cocky self-assurance.

I feel my cheeks heat and look away, glad of the murky lighting in the union bar. I _never_ blush over boys.

 

**Gwaine**

****“Come on, mate,” I say. “We’re in. Buy a round of Rusty Nails and meet me over there.”

Arthur shouts some pathetic excuse, but it’s too late as I start to wander over.

“Evening girls, we’ve been on our feet all day counting bacterial colonies and this is the only free space in the bar. Do you mind if we join you?” 

It’s a Saturday so the lab is shut and there’s plenty of space.

They know it’s a line but the dark one slides up to make room.

I inhale deeply as I occupy the space she’s just left. Her cleavage looked good from the bar; close up I have to try hard not to stare.

“Hi, I’m Gwaine.”

 

**Morgana**

****“Hi Gwaine,” I note the appealing lilt of a Scottish accent. “I’m Morgana.”

“And I’m Morgause.” My friend wiggles her fingers at the newcomer before getting stuck back into her cocktail. There’s only another thirty minutes of happy hour left so we need to make the most of it.

Gwaine’s smile is mesmerising, but he’s clearly very aware of its effect. 

“So how do you know my half-brother then?” I ask.

Now it’s his turn to choke on his drink. I raise my eyebrows and smirk as he splutters, wiping the back of his mouth with his hand. 

“Sorry,” I enjoy seeing him looking flustered. “Uh... we’re in halls together, same corridor.”

 

**Gwaine**

****It’s not often I run out of things to say to girls, but this is definitely one of those times.

I’m glad of my three-day stubble or she would have seen me blush. I’ve rarely been happier to see Arthur as he arrives with four small glasses. I down my drink in one and don’t even enjoy the sweetness.

“And that ladies, is how to drink a Rusty Nail,” I manage.

Morgana steadily drains her glass and licks her lips more deliberately than is strictly necessary. This girl is pushing all my buttons.

I hope I can push hers.

 

**Morgana**

****Three hours later we’re all pretty pissed.

My friend is doing her best to seduce my brother, but he keeps sidling away from her to text Gwen. Morgause isn’t looking impressed.

Gwaine’s been glued to my side all evening. I can feel the warmth of him through his jeans and my deliberately laddered tights. He’s hot in more ways than one and would be everything that I find attractive, if only he were a few years older. He’s friends with my little brother for fuck’s sake.

We run out of cash and the boys start mumbling about kebabs, so we decide to move the party to the flat that I share with Morgause.

 

**Gwaine**

****Things are going well, but I decide that it’s worth blowing half of next week’s food budget on a bottle of cheap whisky and good ginger wine from the offie.

The girls complain when they see the whisky, but I smile as I know the ginger wine will work its magic.

“Wow, you can hardly taste the whisky!” they say almost in unison back at their pad.

I nod and try to look surprised. My off-curriculum research into girls and drinking has led me to one very important conclusion:

Whisky + ginger wine = whisky mac = sex dice loaded well and truly in my favour.

 

**Morgana**

****Morgause is the first casualty.

I deliberately don’t drink much when the bottle comes my way. I’ve had enough booze already, and I don’t want to lose my last remaining inhibitions. But Morgause has no such concerns. Consequently she falls asleep on the sofa, half sprawled across an embarrassed-looking Arthur’s lap.

“I think I’m gonna head home,” Arthur extracts himself awkwardly. “You wanna walk back with me now?” he glares at Gwaine meaningfully.

Gwaine looks at me, raising his eyebrows in an unspoken question. I smirk, looking back at him, not bothering to glance in Arthur’s direction.

“Run along Arthur, I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”

 

**Gwaine**

****It’s just the two of us now.

The banter becomes more stilted and I’m sure it’s not just me that’s breathing faster. All I need is to find the courage to make a move for that first kiss.

One more gulp of the whisky mac should do it. As I lower the bottle I hold her gaze and lean in slowly. Our lips meet. The fingers of my free hand brush through her sleek black hair. The kiss is soft and slow at first but we can’t hold back for long.

I’m reassured when I feel the pressure start to increase inside my jeans. Not too much mac then.

 

**Morgana**

****He’s not a bad kisser for a sloppy drunk. Perhaps a little over-enthusiastic at times, and his stubble borders on painful when he really goes for it. But his tongue is warm and soft against mine and he smells rather delicious. Sweet ginger wine and musk that’s more man than boy.

Morgause stirs and mutters on the sofa, making us pull apart.

“D’you want to move this to my room?” I suggest.

“Sounds good to me, Princess,” he adjusts his prick as he stands -- not making any attempt to be subtle about it. I stare and smirk, not trying to even pretend that I’m not watching.

 

 **Gwaine  
** God, she tastes good, and so wet already.

My lips move up over the gentle curve of her belly. I take my time and make a conscious effort to remember just how fucking gorgeous she looks, so that even if I never see her again, I can remember this scene when I wank. I take particular care to take in the perfect roundness of her tits and her surprisingly small, yet pert nipples.

I’m so turned on I can feel my cock leaving a sticky trail up her pale thighs. 

Normally I’d be worrying about coming too soon, but the whisky mac will work its final spell as always.

 

 **Morgana  
**  
I roll the condom on him, impatient to get his cock inside me. 

His eyes gleam in the dim light from the shaded lamp by my bed. I push him onto his back and straddle him, reaching back to ease him in and I smile when he groans and grips my hips with his fingers.

I ride him slowly at first, leaning forward to kiss him, my hair dropping down like a curtain around his face. His hands are on my breasts, thumbing my nipples, his tongue pushing greedily into my mouth.

I sit upright again and pull one of his hands down between us, showing him where I need to be touched.

 

**Gwaine**

****This girl sure knows how to take charge. I’m normally the boss in the bedroom but it feels strangely liberating to be shown what to do.

I’m getting close now and I sense that she is too. With her on top I’m in her deep but each thrust is quite shallow so I stay nicely on the edge.

Then she quivers and gasps for what seems like an age and I’m still not quite there. She rolls me expertly on top, holds my stare with her dark and mysterious eyes and says those three magic words that all men love to hear. 

“Fuck me hard.”

 

**Morgana**

****I like a boy who does as he’s told.

He really goes for it now, the bed creaking and banging against the wall as he pounds into me. I buck up against him, my hands clutching his arse, urging him on. I already came while I was on top but I stay right on the crest of it, the tension still there and building again already.

“Oh, fuck... _yes_ ,” I gasp as I arch and shudder, overwhelmed by the intensity.

He shouts as he comes too, throwing his head back. His buttocks go tight, clenching under my hands as he pulses and spills.

 

 **Gwaine  
**  
I kiss her neck, tasting her sweat mixed with perfume, as I start to lose hardness inside her. 

I want the moment to last forever, but I withdraw swiftly as I remember a tale of Arthur’s about a mate of his getting a girl pregnant by mistake. I am suddenly very aware that she’s his sister; half-sister. I chuckle at the thought.

“It’s rude to laugh” she says, not unreasonably.

“Sorry,” I lie back down beside her. “I’ll make you breakfast to apologise”

Her smile is enough to make me hope that it might not be the only breakfast I make her. But she’d better like cornflakes.


End file.
